The Sleeping Dragon
by CarpeNoctem
Summary: Years after the final battle, Hermione's demons catch up with her. HGSS
1. Default Chapter

The wind whistled around her ears and sent her errant curls twisting around her head. Hermione shrugged her jacket higher about her shoulders and flicked her hair out of her face in one movement. A wind tunnel had formed on the street running between the silent brick buildings and glittering towers, tearing Hermione's breath away the moment it left her mouth. The lights on the trees shook and jingled, contrasting with the harsh sounds of traffic and pungent smell of exhaust, and somewhere far away a dog was barking. A homeless man sat on the edge of the curb, muttering to himself and holding out his paper cup with a trembling hand. Hermione walked past without looking at him; after so much death and violence, one cold man seemed less pitiable to her.

Philadelphia has miserable winters, she thought to herself as the edge of her foot sank into the slush on the side of the road. This was the fourth one she had seen, but they had gotten no easier. While Scottish winters had a magic all their own, Pennsylvanian winters were soulless; taking away without giving anything back. Hermione smiled a bit, remembering the winters in front of the Common Room fire with Neville and Ron and…. No, don't think about them. Its over, its finished, move on.

The dark seemed to close in around Hermione and her heart rate rose. Night was when It happened, night was when the world broke and the sky fell in. Night was a bitch. Her eyes frantically swept the storefronts, looking for light and warmth. The laughing children in the windows of the department stores only reminded her and she turned away, shuddering. A glow came from the window on her right and Hermione rushed in without seeing the sign on the outside the building: "The Sleeping Dragon".

The door slammed shut behind her and she started, her hand going automatically to where her wand used to be. Hermione grimaced as her fingers met only the loop of her belt. She forced herself to relax; waiting until her hand had finally tore itself away from her side to begin looking around. The store was bigger then it looked from the outside, the bookcases sloping up until heaven. Hermione's mouth formed a small "o". It had been years since she had been inside a store like this-a store still musty with age, dimly lit, books of fine paper that did not blind the eyes with its whiteness. It was beautiful, it was heartbreaking, and it was home.

"Hello?" Her voice was muffled by the books, drawing into itself before it reached another human's ears. Only the books seemed to hear her, but they did not respond. Hermione stepped forward and trailed her fingers along the cover of the book closest to her. It felt like Hogwarts; fragile yet containing strength. She had the sudden urge to rip it to pieces and watch the ruined pages fall to the ground. Like They had fell.

"Can I help you?" The voice was smooth and Hermione's heart leapt. A faint accent lined the edge of the tone, crisp and cool and undeniably British. She turned, already speaking,

"No, thank you. I'm…" And froze in her tracks, the letters melting in her mouth.

He looked the same, and yet utterly different. Perhaps it was the passage of the years, few as they were, but it seemed as if she was seeing him for the first time. She stared in awe at his porcelain skin; shocked at the contrast between its present condition and what the last memory of it had been.

_Hermione caught sight of him right as he fell before Lucius Malfoy. She cried out and ran towards the two men, watching as Malfoy drew an immaculate knife from his boot and leaned over her Professor. A flashing light caught her attention and she glanced away even as she ran, stumbling over the crumbled figure of Neville Longbottom as she did so. She righted herself and finally reached the fight, shocked to see her Professor standing and dusting himself off with the darkened blade in his hand. Blond hair with a streak of red was all she saw on the ground before she finally kneeled and vomited. _

_ An arm snaked around her waist and held her as she finished. Hermione wiped off her mouth and turned in her helper's arms. Professor Snape's face, always so clear and white, was streaked with drying blood-so much that he would be unrecognizable if it wasn't for his nose and his eyes._

_ "Sir" she breathed, not sure what to say or how to react._

_ "Miss Granger," he nodded to her and helped Hermione to her feet. "You would be better off if you did not let your foolish sentiment to get in the way of your own survival." _

_ He let go of her and his eyes glimmered underneath their gory coating. "Have you ever been to __Philadelphia__?"_

_ "__Philadelphia__, Sir?" Hermione was completely bewildered. She puzzled over the man in front of her, even as the battle raged. She got the feeling that she was going into shock._

_ "__Philadelphia__. Perhaps when this is over you would accompany me. The winters are lovely," He suddenly pushed her out of the way, and ducked as a green bolt sped towards them._

But the winters weren't lovely, as Hermione had found out when she arrived. The wind had been the first thing to greet her as she left the airport with one suitcase by her side; young, heartbroken, and running from her demons. The claws were in deep though, she discovered during the dark nights when she screamed into her pillow. No tears were left in her, only pain and emptiness. The only things in her apartment were pictures- Ron and Harry on broomsticks, Harry with his broken glasses, Ron with his flaming hair in a tangle, and one, her favorite, of him. It had been taken at the Christmas Feast and was meant to be a picture of Dumbledore, but Ron had jostled her arm at the last minute and instead Severus Snape was captured for all time, staring into space with a slight curl to his lip. This was the picture that Hermione talked to the most and the one which made her wish that she was still able to cry.

The man in front of her shifted on his feet and Hermione was violently thrust back into the present, and to the impossibility that stood in front of her.


	2. Chapter2

AN: I apologize profusely for the lateness of this chapter. I know RL is a sorry excuse but here I go: I live in a town with one of the highest teen suicide rates in the US and while I didn't know this year's victim, I knew last year's. The recent death plunged me into the emotions of last year and it's taken me a while to recover. So this is for Anthony and Kit: you're both going to haunt me for the rest of my life and somehow this story fits. That's my reason and again: I'm sorry. And on that happy note: on with the show. (By the way, points to whoever spots the Descartes quote!)

He was shorter then she remembered. Perhaps because after all of those nights recreating in her mind his walk, his sneer, his glare, no man could ever fulfill the creation of her desperate mind. His clothing too was different. Gone were the billowing robes that seemed to suck the very sunlight from the air, gone were the boots that, though simple, were obviously of high quality, and gone was the endless sable that used to adorn his scarecrow figure; traded in for a green that was deeper then a fir tree. Gone also was the infamous hair that used to lightly brush his chin: now the raven locks were short and stuck up in a way that would have been endearing if it had been on anyone else but him. Still, it was obvious that Snape, she could never think of him as Severus no matter how hard she tried, had attempted to fix his wayward hair-it had the look of frustration instilled in every strand.

"Hello, Miss Granger," his sibilant tones caressed her ears and Hermione shivered. All the pieced-together memories could in no way compare to the real thing.

"Hello, Professor," her tone was calm and her heart beat at a normal pace, despite the sense of unreality that was beginning to creep over her. Hermione Granger was speaking with a dead man, and yet it was the most at peace she had felt in years.

The edges of Snape's lips turned up slightly and Hermione realized what truly made him seem so different. It was not the clothes, nor even the hair, but his face. The muscles in his cheeks were completely relaxed; making even his aquiline nose seemed less sharp. But the biggest difference was his eyes. No longer were they black pits that sucked in the owner of even a casual glance-now they were serene beyond any meaning of serene that Hermione had ever come across. They even had a slight humorous glint to them, if she looked hard enough.

"And what is it that amuses you, exactly?" It was as if there were two people in Hermione's head: the one standing off to the side quietly in shock and the one producing the flippant statements exiting her mouth.

The edges of Snape's lips turned into a full blown quirk. "The illustrious Hermione Granger must have changed a great deal if she takes at face value the fact that she is conversing with a dead man. I would have expected the Granger I knew to run off to her books in a panic by now."

"I'm not the Granger you knew."

"Evidently not."

Hermione sighed. Even the man's ghost was impossible. "So you are dead then, and this is not some strange twist of mortality?"

"Oh, I'm quite dead. Have been for years, actually. But then you knew that, or at least you thought you did."

"I don't know what I know anymore." The carefree person controlling Hermione's words giggled internally at that.

"Most never do in this place." Snape gestured carelessly to their surroundings. "They seem to be robbed of their surety the moment they enter the door. But then, maybe being sure of nothing was exactly what they needed."

"How could complete uncertainty ever help anyone?"

"This is the most tranquility you've felt for years, isn't it? All the nightmares, all the pain, all the sorrow-they've seemed to melt away into nothing. And do you know why? Because out there, out in the world, you are sure that your friends are dead, you are sure that you are all alone, and you are sure that there is nothing you can do to stop the pain. But in here…in here all is to be doubted."

A shiver ran up Hermione's spine, as if someone had walked over her grave. She shuddered. A tendril of unreality had begun to creep into her mind and she roused herself from her strange stupor in order to glance once more around the shop.

"Precisely what is this place?" Hermione cursed her wavering voice.

"This is the Sleeping Dragon." Snape smirked as she rolled her eyes at the simplistic reply.

"But why here? Why, of all places on earth, did you tell me to go here?"

"I didn't tell you to go anywhere."

"But you did! You asked if I had ever seen Philadelphia and then you…you…"

"I died," Snape stated calmly. "I never placed a vow upon you. You came of your own accord. You came because you did not want to remember and you did not want to forget."

A tear slid onto Hermione's lips, and she realized with a start that she had been crying for the past ten minutes. She looked up at Snape, expecting to seem his familiar derisive sneer in place but his expression was still calm.

"You're a lot mellower," she sniffed.

"Difficult to be angry about things when you have no need to be. It's hard to care when you're dead. The universe just seems to slide by, like an unending stream. It's like…" he paused. "It's like nothing and everything all at once"

"You never answered my question." Hermione rubbed at her eyes with the corner of her sweater, feeling more like a child by the minute.

"Ah yes, what would Hermione Granger be without her questions?" Where once these words were biting, now they seemed strangely affectionate. "I told you about Philadelphia because I had never been here. What I told you was the truth: I had heard the winters were lovely and someday I would have loved to see them. Especially with you."

Hermione's heart gave a sickening thump. "So then you.."

"I loved you. I knew it was ridiculous of me; it would have meant my job and my reputation if anyone had found out I was in love with a student, and a Gryffindor of all things. But strangely and inexplicably, I loved you. I think I loved you since the time you asked me to stay for dinner at Headquarters and wouldn't take no for an answer, no matter how much I stared you down. You weren't afraid of me and you didn't loath me, and I loved you for it. The love for your intelligence and beauty came later, but I was lost from that one night on."

"You say "love" in the past tense." Hermione's shoulders slumped. After all this, he didn't want her anymore.

"The dead do not love, Hermione," his tone was soothing and the sick feeling in her stomach began to dissipate. "We watch and we endure, but we can not love. It is not the way. To answer your question, which I can feel still on the tip of your tongue, I chose Philadelphia because it is the last place I would ever be, the last place anyone would ever expect to encounter me. And that is why I'm here. This is the Sleeping Dragon, the last place on earth."

"So you are here because it is impossible," Hermione spoke slowly, her mind easing over the idea even as she articulated it.

"Yes."

"But then why aren't the others here? Why aren't Harry and Ron and everyone else here?"

"Because deep in your heart, you don't need them to be. You knew Harry would never survive and you knew Ron would almost certainly follow him. You knew I would perish as well, but what you didn't know was how you would feel about it. And it's the not knowing that makes all the difference."

Hermione's eyes widened and she swallowed hard. "And that is why I can't let go, because I didn't know what was going to happen?"

"No one knows what is going to happen, Miss Granger, and yet they are able to go on with their lives. You can not let go because you don't want to, because you believe that if you do, I'll be lost. Your friends will always be remembered as heroes, but whoever would remember the treacherous spy? You fear for me and that is why you refuse to let me go."

Hermione drew in a shaking breath and looked the man before her straight in the eye. Snape's eyes were sad, but not out of grief for himself. The twin pools reflected her own pain and somehow this gave her strength. "But I have to, don't I? I have to let you go."

"Yes, Hermione, you must." Snape stepped closer to her.

She shook her head quickly. "I don't think I can. I can't forget you. I won't!"

Snape lightly grasped her shoulders. "Letting go is not the same as forgetting. By letting me go you will set yourself free, and yet still carry me with you for the rest of your days."

"I want to be free," Hermione said vehemently. "I want to be able to live."

Snape bent close and lightly brushed her lips with his own. "Then be free." He released her and stepped back.

With a bittersweet smile, Hermione moved towards the door. On the threshold she paused and turned.

"This shop will never be here again, will it?"

Snape shook his head. "No, because it's occasional existence here would be a certainty. And besides, you will not want to come here again. Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus."

And with that Hermione stepped out of the store and into the swirling snow, the door jingling pleasantly shut behind her. Without looking back, she moved down the street. A smile graced her lips as she regarded the twinkling lights on the trees and the colorful banners flapping in the crisp air. Winters in Philadelphia were truly beautiful.


End file.
